


Daddy

by sasha_b



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-09
Updated: 2012-03-09
Packaged: 2017-11-01 16:24:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/358882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sasha_b/pseuds/sasha_b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carl spills the truth to Shane.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Daddy

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for season two episode eleven, Judge, Jury and Executioner.

"I didn't...Shane, I didn't mean to _hurt_ anybody, I just..." the boy trails off, hands clenching, white face hidden under the hat of Rick's that he's constantly wearing now. The wind picks it up from the back and blows it off, toward Shane and where he's standing, hand on his cocked right hip, face frowning as he's so used to doing. It's as though it's stapled on, really.

He jerks forward as the hat blows to his feet, and Shane picks it up, spinning the thing in his hands, seeing Rick wearing it in his mind's eye, sees them sitting in their squad car, sees them joking and eating and laughing and he clears his throat and narrows his eyes. Hunkers down, knees popping as he comes even with Carl, who's stepped forward, hand reaching for the hat. Tentative, though.

Shane eyes him, looks at Carl - then the hat, then Carl. He swallows again, pictures Dale in that field, guts splayed for all to tread on, to see, to slip in messily, the old man dyin' and moaning and he licks his lips, thinking.

"Carl," he says finally, clearing his throat. "Look at me, buddy." He holds on to the hat and stares into the blue eyes that haunt him every day from another face. "This is a diff'rent world, my man. There ain't no rules no more. Dale died 'cause he wasn't paying attention at the right places, and that's not your fault."

Carl nods slowly, eyes filling with hope. Shane shakes his head when the boy reaches for the hat again. "But Carl, damn it, if I hafta say something to you about trying to get yourself killed one more time," he says, voice low and vibrating with sudden anger - he knows where it comes from, but he can't stem it. His hand clamps down on Carl's shoulder, so tiny and thin, _what's it like to be a kid in this place and time?_ and he leans closer, face to face.

"Your mama and dad would die if you did. Don't do that to them, y'hear?"

_I'd die._

Carl nods again, solemn, dark hair framing his face, giving him the appearance of -

_He's a good kid, Rick._

_The best._

_You should be proud. I'd be proud to have him myself, brother._

_...I am._

That had been the last time they'd talked about that.

Shane bites the inside of his cheek, blood welling, the familiar ferric rusty taste soothing his sudden temper. If he can't have Lori and Rick, he can have this boy. This boy that listens to him better than his own daddy. He smiles reassuringly, and holds out the hat. Carl makes to take it in his small, slightly shaking fingers, and Shane stands, dropping the hat on Carl's head himself.

A little watery smile is his reward.

"I'm sorry, Shane. I'm so sorry," Carl sighs - voice tight and words spoken with more feeling that Shane's heard from him in weeks. The blue eyes fill and Shane raises his narrowed gaze to the sky, then reaches out for the thin shoulders he'd protect with his heart and blood, no matter what.

He gathers Carl to him, and lets the boy cry into his stomach, making a nonsensical noise every once in a while, watching the trees that bend with the light, coolish wind, hands holding on to Carl's arms gently.


End file.
